My trial professor–I’ve been meaning to write about him for a while because it was a highlight of my semester.
See, I used to hang out in the computer lab before class because I was a slacker and did all my work at the last minute. As a teacher he also hung out in the computer lab and in the building, generally. I remember sitting in the computer lab, more than a few times, and seeing him there or seeing him through the lab windows, walking down the hallway. My thoughts were always:
“What a weird student.”
“What a weird student–who wears suits to class?”
“His suit doesn’t really fit him that well.”
“Is he in the paralegal program? Why is he wearing a suit?!”
And other thoughts of that nature. I remember staring at him, asking myself these questions, as he walked down the hallway. I know that he frequently made eye contact with me when that happened. I would be too zoned out and focused on my internal thoughts to notice until too late. I’m pretty sure we once held eye contact from the instant I saw him to right before he stepped out of my vision. Awkward, especially for me–a person who doesn’t make eye contact unless it’s necessary.
So, imagine my surprise when my class started and he turned out to be the teacher! All the questions were then explained–and I stand by his suit not fitting well. Although, now I have seen him in something other than an ill-fitted suit and he’s a sharp dresser. He is quirky and chill-ish (as chill as a lawyer can be). He is smart and a pretty great teacher. He is “both a gentleman and a scholar.” Not my words (obviously, they’re so charming and eloquent), but my friend’s words. She’s also in that class and she thinks he’s cute and needs a woman. Maybe that’s true, but I have my suspicions about him…
… Which doesn’t mean much when it comes to my feelings about him. I’m going to put this in the blogosphere–after an intense name search to make sure that it would never show up–and say that I have a little bit of a crush on my trial professor. This is the first time the crush is on the professor and not the teacher’s assistant, but there is no teacher’s assistant and he’s an appropriate age.
Lately, it just lingers in the back of my mind. Before it was a problem because this guy seems to love eye contact and I was, apparently, in a targeted zone when he posed questions to the class. He would walk up to my side and look at me–with eye contact–and I’d try to answer the question–with eye contact–while panicking about how much eye contact is too much eye contact. It felt a lot like playing eye contact chicken. I have no idea if my friend also faced this dilemma, but it was a struggle. Now, since we’re winding down the semester, it’s less of a struggle. Sort of.
Today, it came to a head. Sometimes I ask questions after class, but I’m never the last person to leave–because I like to go home. This time, I was the last person to leave and I had a question. He asked some questions and somehow the conversation turned to my upcoming LSAT. He had all sorts of confidence boosting advice–I can rest today because I’m not a completely lost hope. However, while this conversation was happening, I realized that I was kind of… smiling. I can only imagine doing so like an idiot. Oh crushes, they make you do the craziest things.
Thankfully I looked awesome tonight–switched up the black cardigan for a light salmon colored cardi. Of course, I’m not sure I get many points for that if I’m wearing the same shirt and jeans that I’ve been wearing for the last few days. I did wash them, of course–last night. My hair looked fierce and it was also clean. Overall, I looked decent enough for this fifteen minute jam session with the sought-after trial prof…
Why does my appearance matter? Because I’m me. Just because I have my suspicions and doubt that anything would ever, ever, ever happen ever doesn’t mean I don’t bait myself or entertain the thought. Everyone entertains the thought. Besides, who knows? Classes end soon and that’s a helluva lot of eye contact for socratic method teaching. LOLJK RITE? But it is a lot of eye contact; I get uncomfortable thinking about it. Ahem.
These aren’t awkward feelings at all…